I Don't Know How.

I don't know how the words structure themselves inside my mind and I don't know how my mind structures itself inside the words. Not only have I discovered, in this state of soggy groggy nothingness, that I cannot function without a direct and daily transference of thoughts into words but I have also discovered that one can transfer anything to words and be somewhat satisfied in making something solid. I can think something that would have just been passing by but once I catch it and grab it I can examine where it came from and what it really is. I don't know where my words end and I begin. I don't know if I am what the words are or if the words are what I am but I know that I am empty without the words just as the words are empty without me. You find the most human parts of you by feeling things not by making them into words but you cannot understand what you felt or why it makes you all the more human until you put them into words. I live only in my mind and in my words and in my ragged slippers in the morning. They are as much a part of me as my feet and it is just as hard for me to imagine that one morning I will wake up and waddle about in them and they will fall apart as it is to imagine that one morning I will wake up and waddle about and my feet will fall apart. But both of these things are true and I can only wonder which will happen first.